The Winchester Variation
by celinenaville
Summary: Dean's afraid. And he doesn't know how to deal with an enemy he can't kill-his own emotions. One shot.


Being a Winchester meant that Dean long ago had learned to suppress fear. The boys were steeped in it. Raised in it. Marinated in it. And they had to push through no matter what. It couldn't hobble them, couldn't impair them, couldn't make them second guess their judgment or they were as good as gone. Fear had no place for a Winchester.

Now tangential to Fear was Hunter's Instinct… and that was important. Paramount, really. It was related to Fear, like a cousin. But an instinct you couldn't suppress or ignore. Shutting that off meant you'd be dead within the month. That type of fear was a tool.

But it was quick- a tingle, a little warning, goosebumps up your arm, an impulse. It put you on alert, made you react instantaneously.

But it wasn't Fear. Not really.

Fear sent your gut roiling and your jaw tight. Made your muscles shake and your heart pound. It told you to react to a threat that often wasn't there. Or a threat that really couldn't be dealt with through running away or facing it to fight. Because there was nothing to fight. Just a tangential fear that your father had died and you were truly alone. Or that you were so far over your head that you couldn't even differentiate which way was up so that you could swim in that direction and break the surface of the water to get a breath. Fear was knowing that you'd made a deal to get your brother back and you were going to Hell. Fear was knowing that you were really, truly going to that place that your Daddy had walked out of along with a black plume of demonic entities. Fear was knowing that you weren't as strong a man as your Daddy and you weren't going to walk out.

Fear was knowing that that Fate was closing in on you and there was nothing you could do to stop it. -No matter how many women you slept with or how much whiskey you drank or how many monsters you killed. Fear was relentless and omnipresent.

And above all things, Dean was a Winchester. He'd learned to shove it under, laugh at it, ignore it, reason out of it. Plunge in and head toward it. But he couldn't here.

He could only anticipate and watch the train roar down the track at him.

Sometimes it was just a constant buzzing worry in the back of his head. Sometimes it was a full scale panic attack that sent his heart racing, his adrenaline flowing and his mouth dry. If he drank enough he could take it down a notch. Sometimes. Other times the fear was still there and he was just in some woman's arms in bed and he had to finish what he came for and leave.

Sometimes he was sitting next to his little brother and he knew that Sam was scared too. What Sam didn't understand was that the Fear of having to push on alone without him and without Dad? Well, hell, that made the fear of actual Hell pale in comparison. Until now. Until Dean realized just what he had done.

He couldn't admit that to himself though. -Couldn't admit that Fear of Loss was really what drove him and not merely protective instinct honed by years of 'watch out for Sammy.' But he knew somewhere deep down; he knew it somewhere so deep that he couldn't really take it out and look at it or it would burn him. He knew he'd been selfish to drag Sammy back into this fight. That Sam wouldn't have suffered once he was dead; the only real suffering in that scenario had been Dean's. And fear of that pain drove him to make that bargain.

Dean looked at Sam's unsuspecting profile in the passenger seat and adjusted his wildly sweating palms on the wheel.

Sam's gaze slid sideways and Dean knew- just knew-that Sam knew he was terrified.

Sam thumbed through Dad's journal for the thousandth time, scouring for who knew what. He figured the damned thing was gonna fray and dissolve before the kid was even done.

"Give that thing a rest." He admonished, because it made him feel better to give his stress an outlet. Even if that outlet was his little brother. "You're gonna wear it out."

"Then I'll wear it out, Dean." Sam said evenly from the seat beside him.

"There's nothing in there that wasn't there yesterday or the day before or the day before that."

Sam wrinkled his nose and gave him that 'what the fuck is wrong with you' look."No. But I might have missed something. I can only retain so much at one time. I'm just making sure there's nothing in here and it's not human error because it's," he looked at the clock on his phone, "1 am and I've been running on no sleep and half a bag of doritos since morning."

Dean was about to berate him but their eyes met and he realized something. Sam was terrified too.

He closed his mouth and swallowed. "Okay. Fair enough." He said gruffly. "Let's find a motel. Get some sleep. And somethin to eat."

He couldn't ease either of their fears. He couldn't get them out of the mess he'd created. But he _could_ slip into big brother mode.

Sam's shoulders relaxed when he realized that Dean wasn't going to escalate the fight. He went back to reading.

And Dean went back to convincing himself that he'd done this for Sam. Because the world needed more Sam Winchesters in it. Because Sam would be okay without him. But he wouldn't have been okay without Sam.

He told himself that until the knot in his stomach eased a little and he could tamp the fear back into an ember.


End file.
